The evening light filtered weakly into the room. Aira stirred awake, finding herself in the Sloth camp, lying on a cushion in the Sloth leader's room.
She turned to the left—shadows clung to the far corner, the silence almost suffocating.
Then she turned to the right, and there he was: the Sloth leader, lazily sprawled on a couch, crunching on an apple with no urgency in his movements.
Aira hesitated, her lips parting as if to speak. Just as she was about to ask, "How am I here?"
The Sloth leader interrupted, his voice dragging with indifference:
"What were you doing with that reckless stray?"
She tried to form an answer, but his heavy sigh cut her off again.
"Don't get involved with him," he muttered, the words stretched with sluggish warning. "He's nothing but a storm waiting to drag you down."
How did you guys even get involved with the lustful bunch…?"
Aira froze at his words.
Her mind flickered back—
---
Forest, night. (Aira's POV)
The forest was quiet except for the faint rustle of leaves above, and the distant chirring of crickets in the dark. The air smelled of damp soil and smoke from dying campfires.
Bjorn had gone inside the tent to rest.
Aira sat just outside, brushing mud from her boots, trying to fix her hair with quick, practiced movements. The forest around her felt heavier than usual, shadows shifting as though watching.
A snap of a twig—sharp, sudden.
She tensed, heart kicking. She grabbed a broken branch, clutching it like a weapon. Slowly, she turned toward the direction of the noise.
But silence followed. Just the faint drip of water from leaves and the restless whisper of the wind.
Her grip loosened. She exhaled, relief beginning to slip in—
Then, as she turned the other way—
A blade touched her throat. The cold steel pressed lightly but firmly against her skin, making her whole body lock.
Her breath hitched. She dropped the branch. She surrendered.
"...Tie the bitch up."
The command came low, smooth, and mocking.
She turned her head, slowly, eyes wide—
And there, stepping out of the dark with a cruel grin, was the Lust leader, surrounded by several of her members. Their footsteps crunched over damp leaves, and a faint, ugly laughter rippled through the night as ropes were drawn tight in rough hands.
The ropes cut against Aira's wrists as she sat on the damp forest ground, her back pressed against a tree trunk. The flicker of torchlight lit up the shadows, turning the Lust faction's smirks into something predatory. Somewhere deeper in the forest, an owl gave a single call—then all was swallowed by the murmur of shifting bodies and the metallic clink of blades.
The Lust leader prowled forward, her voice a soft hiss that carried over the tension.
"Where is he?"
Aira's breath caught. So… it's him they're after.
Bjorn wasn't outside the tent. He was defenseless, resting… and she would never betray him.
Her silence dragged. One of the Lust members tapped the flat of a dagger against their palm, another cracked their knuckles—making sure she knew the threat was real.
"Tell me," the leader leaned close, her words dripping with taunting cruelty, "or maybe I'll make you… wish you told me. Do you think he'd come running if I screamed your name? Would he fight harder if I told him I'd already broken you?"
The small crowd gave low whistles and muttered, "Ohh… boss lady's pissed," some chuckling nervously, others stepping back as if not wanting to catch her wrath.
Silence followed. The forest stilled. Even the cicadas, the crickets, the branches swaying—all held their breath.
Inside, Aira's chest pounded with fury. I won't let you have him.
Her eyes locked onto the leader's, burning with quiet defiance. And then—
Pttt!
She spat, straight into the Lust leader's face.
A sharp, collective gasp tore through the crowd. Torches crackled louder. Even the forest itself seemed to recoil, as though the trees had bent in shock.
The Sloth leader's voice blurred in the background as Aira spoke, but her memory pressed sharper, dragging her back into that night in the forest…
She remembered the Lust leader's eyes narrowing.
Then, with a slow, deliberate smirk, the woman slid one hand beneath her skirt, fingers fishing for something hidden.
Aira's breath caught. What… is she—
Before her thought could even finish, the world spun.
A brutal thud at the back of her head—darkness swallowed her whole.
The last thing she remembered was the mocking laughter of the Lust faction echoing around her, carrying through the trees like a sickness.
The Sloth leader, reclining lazily on a log, let out a slow chuckle.
Sloth Leader (drawling, sluggishly amused):
"Ohhh… brave little mouse. Spitting at her face… not bad, not bad at all. But…"
(He waves a hand faintly, as if even the gesture is exhausting)
"…don't… try something like that again. It'll only end worse… for you."
Aira's chest rose and fell with sharp breaths, but she lifted her head.
Aira (blurts out, trembling but resolute):
"But Bjorn… he's not dangerous!"
The Sloth leader turned his head lazily, eyelids half-shut as if the effort of even looking at her was unbearable.
Sloth Leader (drawling, words heavy with drowsiness):
"Hmmm… how… do… you… know… tha…"
He's not dangerous. He's just… broken. Someone who's lived his life afraid of betrayal… of being left behind. He lashes out, not because he's cruel, but because he's scared. Given a chance—"
(She takes a shaky breath, forcing herself to keep eye contact with Sloth)
"…given a chance, he might even be the kindest person you've ever seen."
The Sloth leader let out a slow, long exhale, like smoke from dying embers.
Sloth Leader (lazy smirk, muttering):
"Kindest… person, huh? Heh… interesting."
Kindest person you say(he says with seriousness)...
Sloth Leader (suddenly sharp, his voice cutting through the haze of his usual lethargy):
"I know someone exactly like that brute…"
For the first time, his words were not dragged out with laziness. His eyes carried a weight Aira hadn't seen before—clear, piercing, almost heavy with memory.
He slowly pushed himself to his feet, the movement uncharacteristically deliberate, and tugged at the loose folds of his robe. The fabric shifted aside, exposing his side.
Aira's breath caught.
Across his ribs stretched a scar so deep and jagged it seemed impossible that he had survived it. The flesh was ridged and twisted, healed long ago, but it still looked raw with the memory of pain.
Sloth Leader (grimly, with a faint tremor in his tone):
"My elder brother… bore the same look in his eyes as that boy. The same distrust. The same fury at the world. And this…" he traced the scar with two fingers, slowly "…was the gift he left me, the day I failed to understand him."
Aira's heart pounded. She had never seen him like this—not slothful, not careless, but human.